Crossfire (A Skyrim Fan Fiction)

Chapter 7: Dovahkiin

The stunned disbelief on Jarl Vignar's face made every agonizing second I had spent in Apocrypha worth it. I held my smile, letting him gather what wits he had left until he could form a coherent sentence.

"K-K-Kisvar?"

I raised my arms, letting the firelight dance wildly across my Daedric armor, and gave him a little bow. "In the flesh."

Vignar's silver hair framed his dark-skinned face as he stood. He stepped toward me, his brows drawn together and the lines on his face hardened like cracks in stone.

I braced myself, ready to block or dodge any attempt at revenge for sending Vignar back to Dragonsreach unconscious.

Instead, the man clasped my arm. His fingers strained with effort, but I felt nothing through the armor. "Feels real enough... and you're just as dramatic as ever, I see. If this is some trick—"

"No trick. I got kidnapped by a Daedric Prince after the battle and it took me a while to find my way back, that's all. I thought I'd stop by Whiterun and see how the repairs are going. Maybe we could take this somewhere more private?" I flicked my eyes to the war room.

"As you wish... General."

Oh well. Some were always going to be less pleased with my return than others.

"Who are your comrades?" Vignar asked, looking at Jiran and Mira askance when they followed me into the war room.

"Personal bodyguards. I want to talk to you about the dragons. I've been told they've grown more active since I disappeared." Jiran caught my eyes as I sat down at the war table across from Vignar. He conveyed his displeasure with his glare, but I saw him grab Mira's wrist and nod almost imperceptibly toward the door. She caught on to what he wanted immediately and settled against the wall beside the door, fulfilling her impromptu role of personal bodyguard as Jiran took up a position behind my chair.

Not bad, not bad. I liked having people around who could think on their feet.

"More active is an understatement. Reports come in every week of new sightings, and things are especially bad in The Reach. Every one of the Druadach Mountains has a dragon lair. Caravans have to travel at night when the dragons don't hunt." Vignar leaned forward. "They're growing bolder, Kisvar. They dare not attack cities, but they take livestock and horses from farms and villages and attack travellers on the roads. Some fear that this is the beginning of a new age—an age where dragons rule Skyrim."

"That age has already passed." My bold words didn't hide how much Vignar's disturbed me. After I killed Alduin, the World Eater, every dragon had seemed to know it. Alduin had been the oldest and strongest of the dragons, and I had defeated him, earning me the respect of the powerful winged beasts. For a time, I could have ridden from Riften to Markarth unbothered by attacks from the sky, because the dragons knew that I would retaliate against unprovoked violence towards the races of Skyrim.

I hadn't realized how fickle the peace was between men and dragons. Apparently, news of my death had been enough to bring every dragon Alduin had revived out of their hidden caves to snack on cows, horses, and men.

What Odahviing said is true, then. Skyrim is no longer mine.

"You're wrong."

"What?" Vignar focused his dark eyes on me.

"You're wrong about the dragons. They do attack cities. Riften was attacked by a frost dragon just a few days ago."

Vignar took in the news. "Then we must finish the repairs to Whiterun and look to the skies. I presume you're going to do something about this issue?"